Tuesday, August 16, 2005

soul food or food with soul?

this evening i treated my baby sister to a nice dinner at a local greek restaurant -- you know, the least i could do since i don't believe in cooking on a school night. neither of us having discerning or experienced palates in the dionysus arena, we perused the menus at length before placing our orders: she, a combination plate of slouvaki and lamb cutlets with all the fixings; me, 5 prawns with all the fixings.

we made casual talk about important issues: depression, sex, depression, small penises on grecian statues, exercise, exercise, and depression caused by lack of exercise. eventually, the waiter served the appetizers. mmmmmm, i had this in-fucking-credible bean salad and she had some homo-puff pastry filled with sheep's cheese...and five years later, our main courses arrived, but i instinctively new something was amiss when i saw the waiter was carrying a third plate. the surface of the plate, no bigger than that of a standard salad, was in his hand, which was suspended a good foot above my head, but i sat there thinking, 'hmmmm, i already ate my salad? wonder if i'm getting a good faith freebie.'

he finally set the plate down -- it had a package of steamed handwipes. "hmmmmmm, " i thought aloud, and 'what the fuck?' to myself. and then, the crowning glory, the fat bastard of drumrolls, i look over and see what all the hand sanitizing fuss is about -- my main course is covered in shrimp heads -- 15 pair of eyes were staring into eternity, which happened to be in my general direction.

one look at my baby sister, 17 years' old and every bit as mature as her size 7 shoe, and i lost myself in a haze of uncontrollable laughter. i felt like my food was putting me on trial, silently imploring me, gazing at me with an emptiness intended to spawn guilt. basically, i ignored their beady little candied eyes and agonized over the more important things that life can offer a young woman of my upstanding caliber: "i hope i don't get no guts and brains on my fingers."

after some trials and tribulations, i figured out a sufficient, if not efficient (eeeeuuuuwwww, crunchy non-coconut shrimp) way to disrobe the little bastards of their 20-legged haute couture gowns. i fastidiously cleansed and debrised my fingers with a meticulousness known only to Godliness, neighbor of cleanliness. and i popped those lifeless little shrimp bodies into my mouth one by succulent one. i'll be good god damned, i love fresh seafood. i just hate peeling the shit 'cause then i end up picking out vestiges of crustaceous creatures from beneath my finger nails.

by the time i had finished my main course and picked-off the french fries execution style, things had become more than a little boring. apparently the thrill of being stared at by my dinner had lost its appeal -- the novelty, like a lindsay lohan movie, had long since worn off.

what i did next should grant me lifelong access to the anals (and boy do i mean anals) of peta-hood forevermore: i gave two lucky contestants of our dearly departed wedding party a chance at holy matrimony. bib lettuce became scallopped veil; one-eye shrimp became the bride and the biggest head puff daddy the groom. they made a handsome couple re-enacting vows, at times under the not-so-admiring gaze of the wait staff (this is a pretty expensive restaurant) as they promised each other their forevers, which, judging by the taste of the meat, wasn't too far off the mark 'cause they couldn't have been dead for more than a hot minute. i ended the ceremony with a closing remark to my wonderfully observant and oft' times appreciative baby sister: these two lovebirds will live happily ever after until they get divorced 5 weeks later.

but i guess it's too late for wedded bliss when you've been tanned in a fry-daddy and guillotined by a set of opposable thumbs, but good gravy if those little redcoats wouldn't have made bubba gump, shrimp connisseur extraordinaire a proud proud man.

today was a bad day

nothing pays homage to a night of drunken revelry more than dancing atop a platform in the middle of a club, and that's basically what i did saturday night and into the wee hours of sunday morn. i got home about 5 a.m., went to bed, and then i got recalled at approximately 6-7 a.m. i was so pissed i nearly threw my phone into the wall.

yesterday was a shit day, fuck you very much -- i decided to bike home from work. everything was fine the first 5-10 km until the pedal on my brand new used, but pretty much untouched bicycle flew off. i sat for 10 minutes trying to repair the fucker, but to no avail. i was fucking fit to be tied. after that, i walked until i passed a young dutch couple; i asked them if there was a bicycle repair shop around and they referred me to a nearby town -- near as in 3-4 km!

i walked to this town, wheeling my bike beside me like winnie from the wonder years, and i finally make it to the repair shop only to find out they closed at 6:30 p.m. it was 6:45. talk about being in a shit mood. i didn't have any change for a pay phone, but luckily i did have my atm card so i grabbed some euro and made a mad dash for change by way of the local doner kebap restaurant.

the dumb bitch in the restaurant refused to speak english. never mind that i bought something as a courtesy, this dumb bitch refused to help me. luckily, one of her customers directed me to the only pay phone in town, which was located right up the road.

as luck would have it, the only fucking pay phone in town wasn't working. so, i walked back to the kebap place and i implored the dumb bitch to let me use her phone.




I even offered to give her 5, even 10 - euros! that is the equivalent of 1K given the recent exchange rate (naw, it's about 7-12 dollars). she still said no. and then i lost my cool. "listen," i said, "my bike is broken," as i gestured to the haphazard thing propped against her window.

"i need to get home, but i have to call a cab."

"nein...blahblahblah, german language german language," she responded with her head wagging east-west repetitively.

"listen you dumb bitch," i screamed. "heaven forbid you should ever need any kind of help, you fucking bitch! go fuck yourself, i hope you fucking get stranded somewhere and nobody helps you out. you fucking asshole."

right about now was when her comprehension of the english language became pretty solid - apparently she understood my tone of voice or she was better at speaking english compared to what she originally implied.

she started spewing at me in tongues. this made me even more upset. "Aw, fuck you too. shut the fuck up you dumb fucking bitch."

she began gesturing for me to leave her hole-in-the-wall kebap restaurant; i kept on with my tirade in a way that makes bad santa look clean. "fuck you, too, dumb fucking whore!" eventually, i started walking out and she kicked into high gear with some furious yelling. i turned around, "oh yeah? go fuck yourself." i gave her the bird about thirty times - i think i hyper-extended the joint. and then, the coup de grace, i slapped my rump emphatically and told her in no uncertain terms to "...kiss my ass!" i could still hear her carrying on as i made my way back up the street.

soooooooo.....basically, i had to walk another 7km on top of the 3 i had already walked! booo. i didn't get home until 9 p.m.